Chapter 18
Marriage
From the vantage point of my balcony on the Champs Elysees, I looked on the joyfully delirious scenes of the liberation. I saw the yelling crowd shouting and gesticulating, welcoming the Allies, especially the women hanging on ferociously to the all-conquering Yankees.
I have always hated these noisy exhibitions and that is why I took no part in this minor upheaval. I stayed at home during all those feverish days.
At last, sometime after, I decided to go out.
I went to Sirio's, where I usually went to have a drink. The place itself had not altered, but what a difference in the customers! Gone were the rather rigid and aloof German officers, now replaced by laughing and rowdy American officers, shouting and making a glorious din. A few women gripped on to their arms, while others sat on their knees, all of them making a hellish noise.
I sat down at a relatively quiet table and made myself at ease.
I had hardly done so than two officers, speaking in broken French, asked me if there was room for them.
I nodded, and studied them. They were British officers, as calm and well-behaved as the Americans were noisy and rude.
One of them, with an attractive smile which showed off his superb teeth to the best advantage, offered me a cigarette.
"With pleasure Sir, thank you!"
It was five years since I had spoken any English, which I had picked up at the convent. But I liked these two, and I made an effort to remember what little I knew of their language.
"It's so nice you speak English. We don't speak a word of French, and this makes it very difficult for us in Paris."
Our conversation went on in this lighthearted way.
While speaking, I carefully scrutinized my two new acquaintances. I have never been attracted, like some women, by the film-star type. I consider that it is more important for a man to be kind, well-bred and to have sex appeal than to possess a well-cut profile. Casanova was not especially good-looking, and Don Juan's speeches were more attractive than his smile.
That is why I am able to say, without the slightest bias, that these two officers were in fact good-looking. Their faces were certainly well-made, but at the same time they looked a real picture of health and strength, and were not in the least effeminate.
I paid particular notice to one of them, with his schoolgirl complexion, his naturally blond curly hair, and his rather slight athlete's figure.
One thing, however, worried me.
All my lovers had as a rule been very forward, and always most enterprising. Whether French or German, while remaining within the bounds of good behavior, they knew how to speak to women.
But these two, especially the one I had singled out, were timid when confronted with the opposite sex. For example, when lighting my cigarette, my hand brushed his accidentally, and would you believe it, he actually blushed at this insignificant contact.
I could not get over it; in fact, it even cut the grass from under my feet. But I soon recovered.
As much as he would allow me, I was as brilliant and attractive as possible.
Having emptied our glasses, they got up, and together presented themselves:
"Sir George Lanterbury."
"Sir Philip Andrews."
In my turn, I bowed and smiled.
"Monique van P—."
Their eyes lit up with joy.
"Really! I believe my mother had the pleasure of knowing your father, Count Albert van P—, Belgian Ambassador to the Quirinal."
"You are quite right, it was my father."
So it was that in this smoke-filled cafe, among those half drunk Americans, among those high class prostitutes openly making love to them, in this atmosphere of primitive den, these two stiff Englishmen bowed to me as they would have done to their rightful Sovereign, His Gracious Majesty King George VI.
That is how I met my husband. Yes, I did say my husband, because he did not waste any time.
At our third meeting, George, blushing like a little girl putting her hand for the first time in her little cousin's trousers, asked me point-blank:
"Monique, I love you, and I wish to speak to your mother."
"Will you please repeat, clearly and slowly, what you have just said?"
He obliged, but I still could not understand him.
I could comprehend his saying he loved me, he had taken quite a time over it as it was, as up till now he had not even kissed me, but I could not for the life of me make out why he should want to see my mother! Surely he was not going to tell her that he wanted to sleep with me!
"Why is it necessary to see my mother?"
"Why, to get her permission to marry, of course!"
When he made this extraordinary statement, we were in a well-known restaurant, and I remember the orchestra was playing a Viennese waltz. Believe it or not, I was so taken aback that my head whirled around to the sound of the band, and the tables, the customers and the lights went spinning around.
Marry him! Here was a man I had only seen twice before. I had not even slept with him, nor felt the touch of his lips on my cheeks, and now he was speaking of marriage.
Monique, my child, get a hold on yourself! That is exactly what I did, taking a more serious air. He questioned me, worried about my change of mood.
"Monique, darling, don't you love me?"
Upon my word, if I said no he was capable of bursting into tears here and now. That would be the end! So, because I am a generous girl at heart, because I don't like tears, and especially because I was hungry and he had not yet ordered the menu, putting on a very creditable imitation of a modest and ingénue young girl, I lifted my eyes to him candidly and murmured in a deliciously naive way:
"George, I love you too!"
But deep inside of me I was thinking:
"That will keep him quiet for the moment, but when he finds out that my mother and I are ruined, he will not go through with it."
Anyhow, I was by now nearly starving, so I told him to hurry up with ordering the dinner ...
But I was wrong about George, he was perfectly sincere and could not live without me. To add to his other charms he had an income of several thousand pounds a year plus a huge estate in Scotland and valuable property in London. In the usual phlegmatic Anglo-Saxon manner my fiance decided that we should get married as soon as possible, that is in a couple of months.
During this time he was perfect. I was snowed under with flowers and presents, and we did most of the shows and famous restaurants in Paris. He had, however, forgotten one important detail, my fiery passion. He seemed not to notice it. He was a "respectable" Englishman to the core. From time to time he would kiss me, not on the lips, sometimes holding my hand with fervor. That was as far as he went.
But he was starving me. During the last four years I had had more than my share of sexual intercourse and found it impossible to be completely deprived of it so abruptly.
As my tender fiance would not take care of my pussy, I had to get somebody else to do it. That is why one afternoon I strolled along the boulevards looking for a man. In a short space of time, quite a collection of gentlemen made it plain to me that they were only too willing to oblige. Some stared at me fixedly, others winked broadly, and others even spoke their mind. Some were okay, some were not so hot, and some, if you will excuse my expression, were downright lousy.
To tell the truth, on that particular day I did not really know myself what I wanted.
I desperately wanted to make love, but I could not find the right fellow.
Fed up with my fruitless search, I took the metro to go to the Bois de Boulogne. I seldom took it, and had not realized it was the rush hour, with the result that I found myself face to face with a worker who smelled of wine and garlic. I was squashed against his powerful body. Well, well! He was not so bad after all, I decided. I don't know what got hold of me that day; here I was getting worked up over a member of the proletariat in working clothes. And after all, why not, Messalina used to adore being fucked by drunken sailors and tramps.
I was a Belgian viscountess and soon to be part of the British nobility, but I was not an empress.
Too bad, he was the one for me, so I had recourse to my well-tried technique to get him going too.
With a supple and feline gesture I rubbed my breasts against him. At first surprised, he quickly responded and pressed harder to me. Then his leg insidiously slid between mine. I opened them slightly. He smiled, and brusquely his thigh stuck to my belly, so that he could certainly feel the heat of my sex through the rough cloth. His hand went round my hip and squeezed me even more, I felt with satisfaction that his virile member was already awakened.
During all this episode, the tube rolled on, and we still had not spoken a word.
Slightly red in the face, with a hoarse voice he spoke:
"Where are you getting off?"
I looked at him, smiling, my eyes ablaze, and murmured:
"Wherever you want to."
The tube was already slowing down; he got hold of my arm and impatiently said:
"Let's get down here!"
Still without a word, we got out on to the Champs Elysees. He looked me over, then spoke with a respectful note in his voice:
"You are obviously a high-class lady; how come you picked on me?"
"Let us say your manhood attracted me."
"I am certainly a lucky guy! There is only one trouble, I don't know where to take a rich doll like you!"
I had an inspiration. Why make this obliging fellow pay out a packet for an expensive room when my studio was so near. Incidentally, my fiance knew nothing of this hideout.
"Don't bother to look around, we'll go to my place."
When we got there he was awestruck by the luxury, which of course he was not used to. I poured out the drinks in expensive crystal glasses. He looked at them with admiration, then emptied the contents of his in one gulp. I admit that I, future peeress of England, now behaved like a well-trained prostitute.
Now my fully awakened senses made me almost cry out to him:
"Make yourself at ease, don't stand there gawking!"
Nearly brutally, I took off his coat, sat down on his knees, and stuck my lips to his in one of my homemade kisses. It had an immediate effect. He shoved me away, in one stride was up beside me, and fastening one hand on my breasts and the other on my posterior, blurted out:
"I want you!"
"Me too," I said softly.
I let fall my dress, whipped off my underwear, and stood provokingly revealed in complete nudity. He lifted me as if I had been as light as a feather, and, throwing me on the sofa with shaking hands, he fondled and petted me all over my body.
In a flash, he discarded his clothes and fucked me with Herculean strokes. He accomplished his task, sure of his manly strength, his virility and power.
We came together, and in this studio which had been the silent witness of so many refined vices and subtle perversions, there were only two bodies locked together in a normal, eternal embrace. We cried out our happiness in unison.
Three times in a row this robust lover sent me off. I had looked for a man, and I had found one! At last, resting after our sexual combat, he said to me in a queer way:
"It's the first time!"
I burst out laughing.
"My dear friend, don't make fun of me. The first time indeed! You make love like a veteran, and believe me, coming from me that is a compliment."
"You did not let me finish what I was saying. What I meant to say was that it was in fact the first time that I have made love with a woman of your class, so you must understand me, it seems rather strange. My previous mistresses have always come from the lower classes like me. You belong to another world, I can feel it. I did not go to university, but I can make out the difference."
"Yes, so I can see; you are evidently intelligent, so why bother about that? We made love together. It was good while it lasted. That is all there is to it. What does our difference in class matter?"
"In this case it is very important, because for the first time I feel fully satisfied. Although I am 28, it is the first time that a woman has had that effect on me. I have got you under my skin, and I believe I am falling for you."
I cut in sharply:
"Please, none of that! Sentimentality and I don't go together. I met you in the metro, an hour later you were fucking me and it was most pleasant, but that is all. Don't have the slightest illusion about it, we shall never see each other again. I don't want a chain around my neck!"
He looked at me sadly, and I regretted I had spoken so harshly. Gently taking his head in my hands, I kissed him, saying sincerely:
"Before you imagine you are attracted to me, I had better make things clear to you right away. I am not the right woman for you, but a marvelous adventure that happened once in your life. Keep this memory of me if you like. You are a nice guy, honest, frank and loyal. You need a faithful companion, to give you a lot of children and to mend your socks. I am the very opposite of all that. I am unscrupulous, and without a care in the world. Your way of making love was most satisfying, but I would soon tire of your primitive way, as I am used to sexual perversion and bizarre erotic positions. So we had better get dressed now. Have a drink, and we will part friends."
The marriage went off perfectly. However, as a result of it I had to take care of one small matter.
My husband, imbued with prejudice, had to find a young virgin girl in his bed on the wedding night. Two or three days before I had washed out my cunt, putting in a tiny piece of lemon. This was to give him the right impression.
That is why, when George got into our nuptial bed, he found his virtuous bride, not exactly trembling — it does not do to exaggerate these things — but the perfect picture of a young though experienced virgin.
With great tenderness he undressed me, kissed me at last tenderly on my lips, then, laying me out on the spacious bed, began, not so clumsily as I would have expected, to fondle and stroke my body, finally reaching that temple which he thought unpierced.
You know what I am like, and I had to bite my lips in order not to cry out after a few minutes:
"Take me ... I need your manly prick. Take me ... !"
Unfortunately it would have seemed a trifle out of place.
So I kept quiet, although I was by now tremendously excited.
At last he made up his mind, and I did not, to my surprise, have to pretend. Had I used too much lemon? I must have done, because when he came into me quite gently I really felt a violent pain.
So, with one or two cries and sighs of satisfaction, George was convinced that he had possessed his wife's virginity. This is so important to people like him, I wonder why?
Sometime later we went to London, where my husband made me very happy.
He had only one drawback. He only condescended to prove his manhood to me two or three times a month at the most. And to crown it all, it was over too quickly, without hors d'oeuvres or dessert. On the whole, I was very faithful, and I only cuckolded him four or five times in three years, and that with strangers met by chance.
I would not have hurt his love or dignity for anything in the world.
He never realized this, I am glad to say, because one day he came back with a heavy cold. This worsened into pneumonia, and despite his robust constitution, he died nine days later in my arms.
I cannot help my depraved nature, but on this occasion at least I was a perfect wife. During the whole time I barely slept more than five or six hours a day. I can still see now the look of love and gratitude on his face as he gave his last breath.
Having left me a considerable fortune, I am able to go about as I choose. I flit from one adventure to the next, never staying long, and always searching to satisfy my unquenched desire.
So should you ever meet a shapely, elegant female among your wanderings, do not despair, your turn may be next.